Having spent nine months in Purgatory outside the walls, we now faced a living Hell within them.
The Muslim army was so huge it seemed to occupy every foot of ground around the entire city. Their war drums boomed incessantly and their cries for vengeance filled the air day and night. There were soon many desertions from our ranks, including the previously faithful Ives and Aubrey of Grandmesnil, who lowered themselves down ropes and made a cowardly dash for the ships at St Symeon.
We were already feeble and demoralized, but conditions for our army soon got worse. The only foodstuff we had found in any quantity was a store of spices. Ingenious, if hardly appetizing, methods were devised to put it to use. One of them was to make a soup of spices from leaves plus a few thin slices of animal hide and enliven it with blood bled from our precious horses. It did little for the well-being of our horses, and probably did us more harm than good.
Kerbogha’s army attacked constantly, using a seemingly inexhaustible reserve of men. They always attacked more than one wall at a time, wearing us down in an ever downward spiral of despair. Often the Turks attacked in such great numbers that they reached the top of the battlements, where the hand-to-hand fighting was ferocious. Bohemond created small groups of his best men to act as elite squads and close any breaches in our defences.
Sleep was all but impossible, except in brief respites of no more than two hours twice a day. We were fortunate that the men still standing were the elite survivors of countless battles, deprivations and diseases and thus made of the sternest stuff. Bohemond was the strongest of all and relied more and more on Hereward’s experience and military acumen. They became very close, with Sweyn acting as their main aide-de-camp, delivering orders to the other princes and senior commanders.
Raymond of Toulouse became ill and was unable to lead the Council of War, so Robert took on the role. Hereward and Sweyn had devised an astonishingly daring plan, which they had shared with Bohemond, Robert and me. Bohemond was so impressed that he wanted to present it to the Council himself – and, of course, in doing so, take all the credit.
The Council, shocked at first, soon realized the merits of the plan and readily agreed. In fact, we had little choice; another week of the onslaught we were facing would have seen our resistance collapse.
On the 28th of June 1098, the great Battle of Antioch began.
Sweyn and Hereward’s strategy was based on careful observation of the way in which the Seljuks attacked, combined with simple battlefield psychology. Kerbogha kept the greater part of his army out of harm’s way at his main camp about five miles from the city, from where small units were despatched in waves to attack the walls, before retreating for rest and rearming.
We formed ourselves into four distinct groups within the walls: Godfrey of Bouillon led the Lotharingians and Germans; the Papal Legate, Adhemar Le Puy, took charge of Raymond of Toulouse’s southern Franks; Bohemond headed his Italian Normans; and Robert, together with Robert of Flanders, commanded the northern Franks as well as the Normans and my English contingent.
We poured from different gates of the city in the hottest part of the day, taking our attackers completely by surprise, and fanned out in a wide arc. The dual keys to the manoeuvre were speed and ferocity. Our momentum would force the Turks to retreat and try to make a stand – which we had to prevent them finding the ground to make – and our reputation as awesome warriors would strike fear into the hearts of our retreating enemies.
Few of us had steeds of any sort – some knights even took to going into battle on donkeys and mules – but we had to mount a classic infantry charge in full armour in the middle of the Syrian summer. Not a very tempting prospect, but one about which we had no choice.
The plan worked perfectly and the Turks began to fall back towards their main camp in droves. Then simple battlefield psychology played its part. As soon as he saw our attack, Kerbogha should have committed his main force, which would easily have halted our momentum and, caught in open ground, on foot and vastly outnumbered, we would have been annihilated. But he hesitated and prepared his army to hold its ground and defend our attack, rather than come out and meet it head on.
It was a crucial mistake.
Our much smaller army was made up of the most fearsome warriors in Europe, fighting for their survival; his much larger force was full of mercenaries, allies of dubious commitment and men whose homes and families were far away and far from peril.
As Kerbogha’s main force took up its positions, all they could see were hundreds of their colleagues streaming past them and all they could hear were their cries of terror and the sound of mayhem in their wake. Realizing that his army’s will to fight was beginning to desert it, Kerbogha compounded his original mistake in hesitating by ordering a belated attack.
It was the worst possible decision: some of his men followed orders and advanced with intent, others advanced, but reluctantly, while the remainder just turned and joined their fleeing colleagues.
It became a rout as Kerbogha’s massive army disintegrated and scattered, leaving the Atabeg to return to Mosul with his tail between his legs. The Crusader army achieved many remarkable feats on the battlefield; this was undoubtedly its finest moment.
The Atabeg’s tents were captured intact, full of gold and other treasures, including huge stockpiles of arms and strings of horses and, most important of all, food, the like of which we had not seen for months. We looked on in wonder, not at the chests of coin, the gold goblets, fine carpets and tapestries, but at the pens of sheep, the butts of wine and the sacks of corn and flour.
We were in the Garden of Eden, and Jerusalem beckoned.
However, Bohemond got his way and took control of the city. He was in no mood to strike out immediately for the prize we had come for. In truth, few were – enough was enough, and it was time to take stock.
Alexius failed to join us, as had been promised, and so there was no pressure on us to move on. The Emperor had set out from Constantinople, but had met Stephen of Blois halfway across Anatolia at Philomelium. Stephen told him that the Crusaders’ cause was finished and that most were already dead, and so Alexius returned home.
The rest of 1098 became a bizarre mix of blissful recuperation, interspersed with frequent bouts of squabbling between the Princes about who should be in control of the many cities that now fell within their sphere of interest.
Now that all the local sultans, emirs and atabegs had been neutralized, all the cities of Anatolia, Syria and Mesopotamia were at the Crusaders’ mercy, and they took full advantage.
The inhabitants of each city that fell were put to the sword without mercy, only adding to the already murderous reputation of the Crusaders. Sweyn used his ever growing influence to try to persuade the young knights of the values of chivalry and the importance of the Mos Militum. Many sympathized with his basic philosophy, but few were prepared to extend to their Muslim enemies the status of an equal and to treat them as fellow warriors worthy of respect. The hardships of the Crusade had been too great, the hatred of the enemy too ingrained. The preaching of zealots such as Raymond of Toulouse, which cast Muslims as inferior and heretics, was too powerful for most to resist.
Sweyn talked openly about leading a revolt against the zealots by the younger, more enlightened knights, but Hereward, Robert and I managed to persuade him to keep his arrows in his quiver for the time being – certainly until we reached Jerusalem.
In October of 1098, the few remaining Princes in Antioch who still determined to go on to Jerusalem – Raymond of Toulouse, Tancred of Hauteville, Robert and I – decided that we would prepare to march on the Sacred Places in mid-January, as soon as the worst of the winter rains had stopped.
Shortly afterwards, the most special moment of the year occurred: a bodyguard of Alexius’s imperial troops, accompanied by a platoon of Varangians, appeared through the Bridge Gate of the city. They were leading an elaborate covered carriage from the Emperor’s personal caravan. It was strange to see a body of men
dressed, armed and behaving like highly disciplined soldiers; it had been such a long time since we had had the same bearing.
As soon as it came to a halt, Estrith rushed to greet us, shortly followed by Adela, who moved more slowly thanks to a severe limp and the hindrance of the care she had to show the bundle in her arms, a child they had not yet formally named. The three-month-old baby was a boy, who went by the title ‘Herry’ for the time being.
He was dark like his father, bright-eyed and lively, and everyone wanted to assign his looks and character to various of his parents and grandparents. Sweyn was the first to pick up his son, soon followed by Hereward, proud to hold his grandson.
A feast was hastily organized and we sat and listened to one another’s stories. The birth had been straightforward; the Emperor Alexius had treated Estrith and Adela like his daughters; life in the Blachernae was a little like being a bird in a gilded cage, but splendid all the same.
Adela had eventually recovered, but only just. The Emperor’s physicians immediately stopped the use of the hot iron, saying that too much tissue had already been lost. They used instead the maggots of the blowfly, bred especially for the purpose and much more effective than the maggots used by the Crusader physicians. The treatment was uncomfortable at best and involved her lying on her stomach most of the time, but it worked. She had been left with a large hollow where her right buttock should have been, a mass of ugly scarring and a pronounced limp.
Adela, as ever, put it in her own inimitable way.
‘I’m still not a bad offering for a quick tryst, as long as I stay in the maiden’s position.’
The only sad story they brought was that the Emperor’s emissary had returned from Oviedo with the news that Cristina had died a few years earlier, but had lived out her days happily in the care of Doña Viraca, the Countess of Oviedo, who was Doña Jimena’s formidable mother.
The emissary also brought news from Spain that Doña Jimena was alive and well in Valencia with the Cid, who was still Lord of the Taifa, but that he was not faring so well. His age and many battle scars were catching up with him and his body groaned and moaned at him all the time.
We were all sad to hear about Cristina, and Hereward in particular was unhappy to know that the Cid was losing the great strength and vigour for which he was famous.
He made himself a promise. ‘When this campaign is over, I will travel to Valencia to see my good friend the Cid. We can reminisce together before time has its way with us both.’
Estrith suddenly looked heartbroken.
‘I thought you would come back to England with us?’
‘If only I could, my darling Estrith! I would love to see England’s forests, heaths and fens once more. But many years ago, I gave a king my word, a vow I will never break. I will be content to end my days on my mountain, watching the sun going down to the west, until the sun sets for me also.’
He did not need to elaborate, and quickly changed the subject to a happier theme.
‘So, what shall we call the boy? He can’t live his life with a name like “Herry”!’
Estrith put her disappointment to one side. ‘Adela and I thought you would all have some good ideas about names and that we would name him here.’
Sweyn then spoke up, as a boy’s father should, firmly and clearly.
‘It is obvious what his name should be – Harold. Harold of Hereford.’
Robert looked perplexed.
‘I think I understand the reason for Harold – your noble King before my father put his large Norman boot in it – but why Hereford?’
Hereward was delighted.
‘It is where Torfida and I met and this long saga began. A good choice, Sweyn; it gets my vote.’
Everyone concurred and toasts were made to the boy’s health and prosperity. Sweyn picked up the child and handed him to Hereward.
‘Hereward, I would be honoured if you would proclaim his name. I want him to be told about this moment when he is old enough, so that he can remember it all his life and pass the story on to his children.’
Hereward held the boy in the cup of his mighty palm and raised him high above us. The baby thought about crying for a moment, then realized that the occasion was too significant for such trivialities and instead gurgled to himself contentedly.
‘In the presence of the Brethren of the Blood of the Talisman – Hereward of Bourne; Estrith of Melfi, Abbess of Fécamp; Adela of Bourne, Knight of Islam; Sweyn of Bourne, Knight of Normandy; Edgar the Atheling, Prince of England; and Robert, Sovereign Duke of Normandy – I name this child Harold of Hereford.
‘May his life be a long and honourable one, lived by the traditions and oaths of our Brethren. We welcome him to our midst.’
31. Jerusalem
The Crusader army, refreshed, replenished and reinvigorated, marched out of Antioch on the morning of the 13th of January 1099. But it was not the mighty host that had left Europe two and a half years earlier. No more than 1,000 knights and 6,000 infantry were under the command of the Latin Princes, now a handful of men, the only survivors of the cream of the aristocracy of Christian Europe.
Bohemond bade us farewell; he was too preoccupied with securing his hold on Antioch and its satellite cities to join us. But before he did so, he had offered Sweyn an extremely enticing inducement to join his contingent of Italian Normans – the lordship of Harim, a fortress city thirty miles to the east of Antioch.
‘You have a family now. It is time to settle down; there can be no better place than here in this new Christian world. Help me make it secure for our children and grandchildren.’
‘My Lord, your offer is extremely generous, but I must continue to Jerusalem and complete our mission.’
‘Are you implying that I am not completing mine?’
‘No, sire, I just want to see Jerusalem.’
‘I hear that you have been at the heart of much debate among the knights about the ethics of war.’
‘I and many others, including many Muslim knights, follow the Mos Militum, a code of chivalry that encourages us to behave with honour and discipline.’
‘I have heard of it. It is dangerous. There is only one code to follow in war: kill or be killed.’
‘I don’t think my prowess in battle has ever been questioned. But what concerns me is fair treatment for our vanquished opponents, and the protection of civilians.’
‘Do you mean Muslims?’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘That is dangerous talk, Sir Sweyn. There are many on this Crusade who would call that heresy.’
‘I know, my Lord, but they are misguided.’
‘Count Raymond tells me that you once eloped with a Muslim girl while still married to the brave Adela. Is she the one who seduced you with the sinister ways of the infidel?’
Sweyn bristled. Hereward put his heavy, battle-scared gauntlet on the young knight’s forearm, while Robert intervened.
‘Prince Bohemond, we have much to do; Jerusalem beckons.’
Bohemond, clearly angered that Sweyn had turned him down, sneered at us all and rode away.
Hereward reassured Sweyn. ‘You handled that well. Bohemond is not a man to pick a fight with, even when he provokes you. Come, let’s move off. I want to see Jerusalem.’
It took us five months of steady progress to reach Jerusalem. With Robert in a position of much greater influence, our progress was marked by shows of force and negotiation with the local emirs rather than naked brutality. Tripoli, Tyre, Beirut, Haifa and Caesarea all fell under our control.
But Jerusalem would be a different matter.
The Fatimids from the Caliphate of Cairo – Shia Muslims of a very different persuasion from their Sunni brothers, the Seljuk Turks – were in control of the Holy City, and its governor, Iftikar ad-Daulah, was a shrewd and resourceful leader. Much smaller than Antioch, less than half a square mile in area, the city had towering walls and a resolute garrison stiffened by 400 elite cavalrymen dispatched from Cairo.
Despite its formidable fortifications, it was nevertheless a thing of wonder. We climbed to the top of the Mount of Olives to see the holiest place in the world for the three religions of Abraham. There before us, beyond its lofty walls, were the Dome of the Rock, the Temple of Solomon, the al-Aksa Mosque, and the Holy Sepulchre – the most revered buildings in the world. They glowed in the sun, their walls bleached white, their domes, minarets and crosses gleaming symbols of man’s devotion to his maker.
Estrith was moved to tears. ‘Why would men fight over such a place?’
Sweyn was moved to anger. ‘Let’s try to make sure that they don’t.’
Iftikar ad-Daulah had prepared his ground well. Every stick of timber for miles around had either been taken inside the city or burned, all the wells had been poisoned, livestock taken, granaries emptied, and he had a strong supply base on the coast at Ascalon, fifty miles to the west.
To avoid a repeat of the disaster of Antioch, an immediate attempt to scale the walls was made, with disastrous consequences. The lack of timber meant we had far too few scaling ladders and no siege towers, so the attack was called off before any more casualties were inflicted.
At the end of June, finally abandoning their greedy marauding across Syria and Palestine, more Crusaders arrived from the north. They swelled our numbers to 1,000 knights and 12,000 infantry, but also brought their bigotry and avarice.
Robert found it hard to keep control in the camp. Raymond of Toulouse had lost all sense and reason and, with the newly arrived Peter the Hermit and other zealots, had taken to walking barefoot around the walls of the city in prayer.
Despite his overbearing manner, Bohemond would have been useful to us, but, alas, his own cupidity had got the better of him.
One group of new arrivals became a godsend. William Embriaco, a gifted builder, boat builder and siege engineer, appeared from the coast with a large contingent of Genoese sailors. They had dismantled their boats at Jaffa and hauled the massive timbers, ropes and shipwright’s tools overland. We immediately got them together with Gaston of Brean, a genius in the science of siege engineering, and together they built battering rams, mangonels, scaling ladders and towers of amazing scale and power.
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